The Cradle Will Fall
by traLane
Summary: Companion piece to Sunrei's And Down Will Come Baby. Lois wakes up and realizes everyone's been lying to her. She pretends amnesia and leaves. This is Clark's reaction.


This was inspired by Sunrei's short story, "And When the Bough Breaks." After I read it, I just couldn't get it out of my head. Here's what came from my little obsession.

_**THE CRADLE WILL FALL**_

She knows.

I can see it deep in her eyes.

Past the amnesiatic expression, beneath the hazel color, and behind the hurt, she knows. All the times I just stopped by, hoping she would remember, pleading with her to come back, and I _missed_ it.

This time, sheer desperation gave me the courage to look deeper and I saw it all.

She knows about us.

She knows about me.

I'm not surprised that she knows. She is the "Pit bull on a pant leg" after all. Given her proclivity for finding the truth, it was inevitable.

I'm a little suprised by the tiny thrill that goes through me.

Still, a secret part of me always wanted her to know.

Looking back, it was pathetic just _how_ _much_ I hoped she would find out. Even when I was lying to her, I was waiting for her to put the pieces together. It wasn't like I was operating with a well-developed plan after all. My "excuses" were lame, my conversations were telling.

Surely, I thought, she would see right through me. Something in the twitch of my mouth or arch of my brow would give it away. If nothing else, she'd see the truth in my eyes.

She was always good at that.

Why did I want her to find out?

Because, if she connected the dots on her own, the burden was lifted from me. I didn't have to decide. I wouldn't have to make the choice.

It was a coward's way out.

I am a coward.

Even now, as the little thrill quickly dissipates under the crushing reality of what I've done, I don't know what to say.

My breath catches in my throat, and I realize I should have told her the truth.

Why didn't I?

Belatedly it occurs to me that, even if I tell her the truth, she might want some answers.

After all this, she deserves them.

Knowing her, she thinks it's because I don't trust her, but that's not it. She is trustworthy. I know it. I told her the truth once. After being threatened, I revealed my deepest, darkest secrets to the world. She was the first one I told, the only one I trusted to write my story.

"I guess I shouldn't call you Smallville anymore," she said with a smile, and that was all. No trumpets, no fanfare. She wrote the story and we were friends, almost more than friends. She even stood by my side when the world turned against me.

In all the years I've known her, she's never betrayed my trust.

I trusted her.

So why didn't I tell her the truth?

As lame as it sounds, I was trying to protect her.

She's beautiful and headstrong and a magnet for trouble. Her inexhaustible ability to ignore risks, combined with her tenacity and loyalty, keep her in harm's way.

And she's already tried to protect me. Just a few months ago, she tracked down an enemy and got herself knocked out ... again. Shortly after that, she spoke out in support of my alter ego and got herself thrown off a building.

"You have to let me go," she said, only one hand holding tightly to the flag post.

Reaching out to her, on the verge of being discovered, I realized ... I can't let her go. I was tempted then to just forget about my secret.

She was the one who told me to hold on to it.

I tried to tell her. On the ground, she thanked me. Her words were warm and touched something deep inside me. I could feel myself weakening. The look in her eyes encouraged me to surrender.

I wanted to, so very badly.

My mouth opened to speak.

Then the phone rang. The call was another lie. A voice pretending to be me convinced her. Later she said it was all a big misunderstanding. I was flattered, I told her.

It was easier than telling her the truth.

Easier for who, I wonder?

I can ask that now.

She knows.

Behind the blank stare, deep in those hazel eyes, I can see her pain.

She knows and it's hurting her.

I never wanted to hurt her. That's what I told myself - that's what I tell myself now - but a voice that sounds suspiciously like hers asks me, "How did you expect it to end?"

Good question.

In my defense I could say that I let her see only what she wanted to, but that wouldn't be right. The pain behind her gaze is mixed with a sense of betrayal and I'm forced to face the cold, hard facts. I actively deceived her.

I pretended to be two different people.

No, not two different people, more like two sides to the same coin. Two different ids ... or is it two different egos? Myself and my alter ego were both desperate for the same woman, both craving her attention.

Suddenly, the real reason I kept lying is staring me in the face.

I was afraid she couldn't love me, not all of me.

She loved us each – the ego and the alter ego - but could she love us both together? Would she treat us the same? All the other women in my life had been drawn to the alter ego - the super-powered hero - as soon as they knew he existed. With her, I had the best of both worlds. My alter-ego could get lost in the comfort of her voice on the phone and, when that was over, my ego could interact with her as "Smallville," a regular guy.

I couldn't lose that.

So I lied … and I kept lying.

Now I'm reaping the consequences of my fear. I face a woman in pain, standing in front of me with her arms crossed, her brow puckered, and her lips pressed tight.

All the lies have placed a wedge between us.

I've pushed her so far that she pretends not to know me, and I let her.

Still, I come, barging into her life when I'm no longer wanted.

I can't let her go.

Having seen behind her eyes, I am more desperate and more afraid than ever. So I blurt out the only truth that matters.

I know she needs to hear it.

If anyone deserves the truth, it's her.

"I love you."

Within her hazel eyes the pain flares and the betrayal ignites. The knowing turns to anger and sizzles.

"I don't know you," she tells me.

It's a lie.

I know it's a lie.

She knows me.

I can see it in her eyes.

Still, who am I to complain?

My heart breaks into a million pieces but I say nothing.

What is there to say?

She knows.


End file.
